The
florid crime, the quirks of Calliope's whims,
Distil
the drool, satiric treacle's pride,
The
glottal joke, the aspic spittal's phlegm,
To
sweetened truths and honeysuckled lines.
In
nervous creeps the sorry heart rebels
With
relished winces, spices numb the lips.
And
rapture's yodelled song is quelled,
Preferring
obmutescence - or a quip.
The
things you call pretentious burn the blood.
The
pierce and pant, the flush that swells the lungs.
Split-second
strokes that cannot cool to words,
Caloric
gases rise to rack the tongue.
Feel
free to dress your abstinence with spite.
If
beauty's truth, it's safer to be right.
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